


Jolt

by lizlee83



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Sailor Moon
Genre: Amnesia, Angsty Schmoop, Cheesy, Crack, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Memory Loss, One Shot, Past Lives, massage therapist Nephrite, sailor jupiter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizlee83/pseuds/lizlee83
Summary: Nolan is a massage therapist who has managed to rebuild his life from scratch, after a devastating car accident left with amnesia. Despite the gaping hole in his memory, he has come to like his simple life such as it is, and his job... until a strange new client threatens to turn it all upside down.





	Jolt

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically a fluffy crack piece, but with as much angsty sentiment as I could cram in. Forgive the obvious trope and unforgivable cheese, but I dunno, I was compelled to write this scene I imagined between them one day. 
> 
> It's very mildly saucy, but there is nothing explicit at all. It also contains implied past violence, which is why I rated it Teen and Up but honestly, it's very tame. I hope someone enjoys my humble attempt!

He entered the small darkened room with his usual, practiced soft-spokenness. He quickly scanned the covered silhouette on the table, mentally checking the list of areas needing special attention, as indicated on the client assessment form. Lower back. Right shoulder. Crown. 

It was a mechanical process, despite the appearance of intimacy inherent to the experience. That being said, this young woman had mentioned to the reception that it was her first time in a spa, or getting a massage. This told him he was on especially thin ice before he even started, and he'd have to be mindful of the slightest discomfort on her part.

Fortunately, he'd never had much of an issue putting his clients at ease. He liked the people here, and had chosen the particular line of work because he'd discovered (or rediscovered, he wasn't sure) that he was good with his hands. Quite by accident, he had encountered a therapeutic massage class at the hospital during his rehabilitation thanks to a community billboard, and given how much it had helped him, he had decided to enroll. It was a fleeting decision, but he had nothing else to look forward, or backward to so he had gone for it. He’d soon discovered that he liked making people feel better, liked touching them literally and figuratively. The vulnerability involved in the process, the trust his clients literally placed in his hands; being attuned with their energies; It was a very humbling thing. As such he treated every instance with the utmost respect. On a more personal level, he also thought that perhaps in getting to know people in this way, he would finally uncover the parts of himself that were taken from him, and better understand those who surrounded him. It was a faint hope, but it only emphasized his respect of the process. Either way, his confident but gentle approach seemed to be very successful. He was well-liked in the exclusive spa and had already amassed a few regulars in the short year he’d been employed there.

Newcomers were always a refreshing change, and he welcomed their challenge. As he stepped towards the table, he hoped for the best. 

“Hello again,” greeted softly, “I’m going to begin now, so if ever there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with, or that you’d like me to adjust, just let me know.” 

“Alright,” was the simple reply, muffled by the face-rest. All he could make out was a thick tuft of luxuriant dark locks, tumbling down from the top of her head where they were gathered by a sparkling green hair tie. 

He started with the usual gentle squeezes across her down-turned body from atop the blanket, to awaken the muscles. Shoulders, triceps, hands, lower back, thighs, calves, and the balls of her feet. She was tall, and her frame was solid. He already knew his work would be cut out for him. He continued the careful kneading of each muscle group, feeling them tense beneath his palms. The gesture wasn’t masso-therapeutic as such, but it often helped to relax most clients and accustom them to the sensations to come, along with the soft sound of waves and light jasmine scent wafting about the room.

It didn't quite seem to be working with her, however. He sensed a definite underlying tension gripping her entire form as he traced his hands over once more. The subtle tightening seemed to crescendo the closer he got to her shoulders, and when came time to finally peel back the blanket, her entire body was taught, like a cat about to pounce. And pounce she did, her head suddenly snapping up from the cushioned headrest. 

"Kino-san," he whispered reassuringly, "We can keep the blanket on, if you're not comfortable."

He'd almost stumbled through the last part of those well-rehearsed words as he beheld her face, now plainly visible. Even in the dim glow, her eyes blazed a vibrant, soulful green which transpierced him. He hadn't expected that, and felt his heart quite unprofessionally thump in approval. Aside from her obvious attractiveness, something deeper tugged at his consciousness. An undeniable familiarity haunted her fine, sober features, and he found himself transfixed for a few moments. Still, he focused on the girl's clearly apprehensive expression, rather than the strange déjà-vu he felt. 

"We can stop if you feel uncomfortable," he gently insisted again, absolutely sincere, "tension is really not the goal of this, after all."

"It's fine." She said evenly, her face more serene, though her emerald eyes still flickered in hesitation. "Sorry. I'm just not used to you. It."

With that, she placed her head back down into the rest, sighing deeply. He was at a loss, staring at her now tranquil form. He cleared his throat and tried to recenter himself. It was definitely one of the more awkward beginnings he’d had, but he was convinced he could salvage the experience.

As he carefully lifted away the thin blanket, the reason for her apprehension was suddenly made disturbingly clear. He actually did have to restrain himself from gasping. She had beautiful pale skin draped over her sinewy, elongated limbs...and it was disrupted by horrid scars. While they didn’t cover her entirely, the ones which did mark her echoed a violence he couldn’t begin imagine. Zigzagging patterns, like roots from a tree growing asunder from her neck, crawled down her back in jittering, pale pink branches, all the way past the towel covering the slope of her backside. He hesitated to touch her, not because of any disgust, but rather because he was concerned about hurting her. The reddish streaks did seem relatively recent due to their colouring, but nevertheless appeared healed. He was no doctor though, and he was racked with uncertainty as he took in the shocking markings.

He had already paused for far too long however, gawking at her back like some sort of rubber-necking rookie, and decided it was time to get to work. The girl said nothing, though her shoulders seemed tight. Perhaps she’d anticipated his unprofessional reaction, or perhaps he’d made her feel worse in hesitating. Either way, he expertly rubbed the oil into his hands and began, before it would be too late to redeem the session.

This girl was exceptionally athletic. As his hands deliberately slid over her back and shoulders, he could feel her muscles shift and slither with difficulty beneath his fingers, unaccustomed to being disturbed. Whatever it was she used them for, she was not forgiving. As he continued to rub her, he could feel the slightly raised edges of her scars subtly sweep against his palms, like some sort of gruesome Braille code. The sensation did not trouble him as much as the the hundreds of scenarios dancing around his head concerning their cause did; and while he had been hard-wired to follow a strict code of conduct, he could feel the anxiety mounting within him. Before he could stop himself, the question escaped him. 

“What… happened?” 

He immediately regretted it. It broke all of his rules for professionalism, discretion and respect of his clients’ body. It was disturbingly uncharacteristic for him… he’d never before allowed such a slip-up. He couldn’t understand why the scars bothered him so; after all, he’d seen so much worse, splayed out on his table. Warts, stretch marks, surgery scars, cellulite, the whole buffet, and none of it had ever bothered him, or compelled him to ask how they’d gotten there. An admittedly beautiful girl with elaborate scarring, while surprising, shouldn’t have sent him reeling so far off course. He continued massaging her, to try at least operate under the pretense that such invasive small talk was part of the usual experience, despite his better judgment. He had felt her tense under his fingers, and was filled with shame. 

“That’s… complicated,” she said calmly, lifting her head from the rest, but not looking at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, genuine, “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“...Is it normal for massage therapists to talk while they work?” she asked somewhat coldly.

That last statement, while definitely true, piqued him. He’d never been called out on any unprofessionalism before in such a direct way… though he’d never behaved in such a manner either. For that reason, he swallowed his hurt pride.

“If you’d like to stop and reschedule with someone else…

“No,” she interrupted insistently, “No. You’re doing a good job. I’m used to that reaction anyway.”

He felt his heart sink as her shoulders slumped. 

His hands came to a halt along her shoulder blades, as mortification crushed him. His voice deepened with regret as he noticed her green gaze trained on him, even through the dimness of the small space. 

"I'm sorry, Kino-san. I just worried I was hurting you. I didn't want to do that."

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she mused, her expression glazed with a faraway look. She seemed neither bothered nor offended, simply thoughtful. 

“I’m glad. Shall I continue?” he asked, genuinely uncertain at this point. She’d propped herself onto her elbows to better converse, and he had simply rested his hands on the curve of her back, waiting. He’d never before found himself having to resist glancing at a client either, and felt all the more awkwardly shamed as her uplifted position revealed ever more skin. This was so far, the most blundered massage he had ever given, and once it was over, he’d surely have to reevaluate his future with the practice. He had never felt so mystified or attracted to a client before; though he clung desperately to what professional automatisms he had left. Quite the plethora of lovely women (and men) had passed beneath his fingers after all, and he’d been a rock. This one was simply not agreeing with him somehow, and she flustered him on levels he cared not explore just then, and not just because of her scars. Part of him almost wished she’d say no, but he dutifully awaited her answer. 

“If you like,” she replied cryptically, which did not help his situation much, though she’d mercifully set her head back down. 

“Well, this is about what you’d like, Miss Kino,” he managed, still letting his hands linger on her warm skin as a bit of an incentive. He wasn’t quite sure why, since he’d hoped for this all to end but moments ago. 

“Makoto,” she corrected softly. Her voice seemed slightly wistful that time. He wondered why, and noticed that his hands had continued on their own. She showed no further signs of resistance, so neither did he. 

“You can call me Nolan then, Makoto,” he said with a smile she couldn’t see. He worked her shoulders diligently, for they were still so incredibly strained. 

“Nolan, really?” she chuckled vaguely. “How did you come by that name?” 

His eyebrows furrowed at the odd question, especially since it was particularly relevant to him. Like she’d knowingly hit the nail on the head. 

“That’s a strange question,” he declared, “don’t most people get names from their parents?” 

“Did you?” she asked, softly insistent. He could almost hear the smile in her voice then. It was a strange relief, despite how deeply the question had troubled him. He tried not to let his uneasiness translate into his fingers, but the truth was, he found this Makoto girl to be entirely disturbing.

“No,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “I was involved in a car accident a few years ago, and after I woke up in the hospital from a coma the doctors said had lasted almost a year, it was the only name I could think of. I’d forgotten pretty much everything else about my life before that.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and the atmosphere grew heavy between them. His hands never stopped kneading her skin however.

Despite that, he hadn’t minded sharing that story as much as he’d thought… and with a complete stranger, no less. Besides, this had given his insatiable curiosity some leverage.

“That’s alright” he began, more cheerfully, “I’ve bounced back pretty well, I like to think. And besides, now that I’ve told you something pretty private about myself ….”

“Well Nolan, I’m still not sure I can explain these scars to you,” she answered immediately at his hinting. “Like I said, they’re complicated.” 

“Fair enough,” he acquiesced, knowing he’d already pushed way past every limit imposed with clients. He wouldn’t press further, except with his hands. 

He'd reached her neck and encircled the tense muscles there, which seemed completely unwilling to yield. Despite this girl's aloof demeanor, her body spoke volumes of a different tone beneath his palms. She was incredibly tense. Not just knotted up, but actively flexing, as though her nerves were commanding her to remain at the ready for some physical response he couldn't fathom of. What is it she was she anticipating, or so afraid of, that her body was as constricted as a cobra?

His fingers were gently brushing her throat when he felt the answer. There, as her pulse rushed past and through his deft hands: the overwhelming memory of squeezing there. A fleeting urge to crush her fragile windpipe and be done with her meddlesome presence. He was horrified at the sick familiarity welling in his stomach at the thought it, and removed his hands in a fit of panic. 

He had felt this before.

Before he could respond the horrifying realization, her somber voice only further enhanced it.

"You remember, don't you?" 

The question had barely reached him as a terrifyingly violent flashback seized him. He stared at his hands, aghast and pale. He was a serene man, with a warm heart. He loved people, and taking care of them. Or so he thought. How was it that he was racked with such despicable memories? And even more bizarrely, memories specifically targeted at her, a stranger? But he knew her somehow... And he was now absolutely certain that she knew him. The room began to spin and Nolan found himself grabbing the massage table for support. 

The brunette had pulled herself up into a sitting position, having hastily wrapped the white sheets around her tall frame. She observed him with concern as he fought to stay aloft, but waited. Who was she? Why had he instantly been intrigued, and even allured by her? And why then, should he want to kill her in such an inhuman way? His head throbbed nauseatingly as what felt like distant memories, each more horrible than the next, threatened to split his brain apart.

"That’s right," she said evenly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder, “you do remember. I know it’s hard, but stay with me." 

He cringed away from her instinctively, suddenly distrustful of her intentions. In a matter of a few minutes, she'd devastated his practice, unsettled his confidence and finally, was playing a part in shattering the hard-won life he had painstakingly established for himself over the past two years, from the black hole he'd emerged from.

"Who are you?" He demanded, his voice cracking as he cradled his aching head.

"Someone who's been trying to find you for a long time," she said cryptically. Even as confused as he was, he could hear traces of anguish behind her voice. Why? 

"What do you mean?!"

"It wasn’t a car accident, Nolan," she coaxed gently, brazenly taking his hands whether he wanted it or not. It was the latter, and he immediately retracted them from the deranged woman. She seemed saddened by it, but continued to plead her point. "Push through this. You know who I am."

"What are you talking about? I've never seen you before!" He spat, seriously beginning to feel fearful of this patron, despite his insides burning with recognition. Her large green eyes were trained on him so intensely... So full of bewildering familiarity, it made his pulse skyrocket. He stumbled.

"I think you should leave," he said finally, his head spinning. "Or I will."

"Please, don't run away. Your name isn't Nolan," she replied with urgency, frustration flashing across her features. "You know deep down what your real name is!"

He struggled to hear her words without being sick. The cold dread of confirmation had petrified in the pit of his stomach.

"And how do you know?!" He howled shakily, despite the blind throbbing behind his eyes. Though alarmed he was at this girl's seemingly otherworldly influence on him, he nevertheless began to doubt that her intentions were sinister. As bizarre as her claims were, there seemed to be unmistakable concern aglow in her eyes. Or perhaps she merely pitied his helplessness. Either way, he had to get away, for fear of his head and heart exploding.

No such luck. 

“These scars,” she began, her voice inexplicably rooting him to the spot, “they come from the last time we saw each other.”

The words pierced right through him, a lance of ice impaling him onto the floor. 

“No…” he protested weakly, somehow knowing the horrible words to be true. The disgust he suddenly felt with himself confirmed as much. 

“And I’ve been trying to find you before they do, to prevent you from wanting to cause more.”

Nothing she said made sense, and yet it did. His brain was on the cusp of understanding… balancing precariously along the edge of abyss and enlightenment… and her words would provide the final push. 

“Nephrite,” she said, with the sorrow of a thousand lifetimes tainting her voice. The name roused him like an old melody suddenly remembered; his breath caught in his throat. Her hands came to caress the sides of his anguished face and her haunted eyes bore into him; transpiercing him to his very soul. He could no longer escape the truth they carried. 

“I know you…” he realized. She merely nodded, while silent tears slowly meandered down both their cheeks. 

“I… I hurt you,” he remembered. He’d hurt so many. He cringed away from her, but she wouldn’t allow it. She held steadfast to his face, forcing him to look at her. Forcing him to see.

“Yes. And I hurt you. But think further back. Beyond all of that.” she instructed simply, though he did not know how, or whether he wanted to. His mind could only reel at the array of hideous things he had done, as they immersed his brain with the merest look at her face. Why was she forcing this hell upon him? All he’d wanted was a peaceful life… a calm and happy reclaimed existence following the chaos which had befallen him. Why was she making him remember such atrocities? Why were those emerald eyes so intent on destroying him, mirroring nothing but horror and cruelty back at his own hands? He bucked again under their unyielding gaze, but she held him, this time wrapping strong arms around his struggling frame. Her soft voice whispered into his ear now, as the terrible and wonderful onslaught of her familiar, warm body weighed upon him. He had known this embrace. Yearned for it, desperately. 

“Think far, far back,” she repeated calmly, though he could feel her pulse race against him. “Further than their reach.”

He was afraid. Terrified. But for her… he would try. 

The initial surge was the worst; horrid memories reasserting themselves and breaking against him as though he were made merely of sand, until nothing of his precariously-established reality was left. His car crash, his new occupation… “Nolan”... All of it had been a fabrication of his own design, created by a damaged brain hoping to salvage a glimmer of hope and conceal the evils he’d left in his wake after the Silver light had cleansed him. He had once been a plague personified… wreaking havoc and destruction wherever he went; and yet inexplicably, he knew that his hand had been forced. He knew that evil wasn’t his true nature; that he and his gifts had been corrupted somehow. Even if he could accept that, he knew he would not survive the searing, horrific guilt. He felt that the last remnants of him would crumble, and that he would likely die by this sorceress’ gaze, crushed beneath the horrible weight of it all. Nevertheless, just when he felt he could bear no more, the faintest traces of light began to emerge in his mind’s eye. As he sat there, banished to his knees in the arms of this familiar stranger, hopelessly besieged with unspeakable grief for things he hadn’t known he’d done… he began to feel the violent, relentless waves retreat. For once he’d peeled beneath their dark revelations of a tortuous past, impossibly, there awaited yet another life. Another existence altogether where his true self dwelled, which he dared not investigate, for fear of it being a cruel dream. It was just below the tainted, bilious surface… and it was full of joy and warmth… and full of her. His cinnamon eyes flickered upwards then. He’d been unable to resist confirming the tiniest twinges of hope his heart had gleaned from the memories. And seeing her there, looking down upon him with the same desperate, aching sort of love he now remembered, he knew. 

“Makoto,” he whispered. Once a distant sound, the name then felt like breathing for the first time. It felt like fire igniting the depths of his soul. It felt like home. He was alive again.

“I finally found you,” she kept repeating. He felt the patter of warm tears spilling onto his face as she held him tightly, as though willing him not to disappear.

“You found me…” he confirmed softly, lost amidst a sea of brown curls.


End file.
